Worth Fighting For
by M.B. Anchor
Summary: King Thranduil and Legolas engage in a fierce argument that leaves both hurt and angry. After an unexpected ambush by orcs results in one of them barely clinging to life, will they realize what is really worth fighting for? Or will it already be too late?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien sadly. I do not own anything**

**Author's Note: Sit back, relax, and enjoy! Reviews and encouragements are welcome, however flames are not.**

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The trees of Mirkwood whispered as a light breeze floated among the branches. The wispy, gray clouds in the sky shaded their boughs from the sun. The weather did not threaten rain, and overall, the trees agreed that it was a pleasant day. Yet, the same could not be said for the royal occupants within the stone walls of the elven castle.

The large, wooden doors to the throne room trembled as they were thrown open. Strands of golden hair brushed the doors as an elf stomped past. Though his lithe posture was dignified, barely contained fury radiated from it. Annoyance chiseled the fair features of his face, and his blue eyes glinted with ice.

The prince stormed through the hallways towards his rooms in silent rage. Heavy footfalls replaced his usual graceful, quiet footsteps. Had one of the sons of Elrond been there they would have joked that the elf's thunderous padding was so loud it would awaken even the heaviest sleeper of the dwarves. Unfortunately for the occupants of the castle, the twins were not in Mirkwood to lighten the prince's mood, and none dared to approach their liege in so dark a mood.

Upon reaching his quarters, the elf shut himself inside. With a growl of exasperation he flung the pale green cloak from his shoulders, revealing the gray tunic that he wore. He sauntered over to the inviting fireplace in the right corner of his room. The fire crackled a greeting as the prince sunk onto the ornate rug before it.

Wearily, he massaged his temples. Anger was not the real emotion that flooded his heart. Instead, it was an empty sadness. The day did not begin well. It marked the anniversary of an event that grieved him deeply. Time had not healed the wounds torn open that horrid day over a century ago. Rather, time only served to deaden the pain. Until he sailed, he would never be rid of the sorrow that her absence caused him. To keep himself from dwelling on his pain, the prince had learned to immerse himself in the protection of the kingdom. The duties of fighting against the ever encroaching darkness left him little time to think of her passing.

He stared listlessly into the fire. "I am no politician," sighed the elf. The events of what had just happened in the throne room replayed in his mind. The prince did not go on patrol as he originally planned. The king had unexpectedly summoned him to the throne room, where they both spent the entire day listening to complaints and trade talks. The young elf had tried to act diplomatic and pay attention, but his endurance only lasted so long. Towards the end of the tortuous talks, his thoughts had drifted to other things, including her. At some point during his musings he realized the court had gone silent and everyone was staring at him. His eyes had hastily found the king's which were blazing with anger. Like an elfling he was chastised before the whole court for his lapse of attention. Filled with humiliation and indignation, the prince fled the room and sought solace in his quarters.

Now, the elf waited for the inevitable. It was only a matter of time before his father came bellowing into the room with the intent to finish the conversation begun earlier in the throne room. As if on cue, the prince's sensitive ears picked up angry footsteps outside the door to his bedroom. The door burst open with a resounding "bang." A blonde elf who closely resembled the prince barged into the room. His angular face was as red as the leaves on his crown. "Legolas! I hope you have a good explanation for that embarrassing spectacle that just took place! I cannot believe you," bellowed King Thranduil.

The prince leapt to his feet."Embarrassing, Adar? And who's fault is that? My slight lapse of attentiveness was pardonable until you had the nerve to blow it out of proportion and humiliate me in front of the entire court! Do not lay this accusation of shame at my feet," he retorted with a steely voice.

"Please, tell me you are not suggesting that I am to blame," growled Thranduil as he closed the space between him and his son. He jabbed a finger at the elf who stood defiantly before him. "If you had paid attention none of this would ever have happened! Truly, Legolas, I expected more of you. A warrior as acclaimed as yourself should know better than to let your awareness slip. Valar, even the youngest of elves in our archery training knows better than to let their guard down. Maybe you are not as skilled as everyone thinks," berated the older elf. Glaring at his son, he saw his barb hit home as Legolas visibly flinched. The younger elf never took it well when others challenged his expertise with a bow and knives. Deep down the king knew it was low of him to exploit Legolas' insecurities, but at the moment he was too mad to care.

"Do not dare bring my skills of a warrior into this! My competence as a soldier has nothing to do with letting my mind wander during petty trade talks," hissed Legolas. Jerking away from his father, he stared bitterly at the roaring fire. Pain and anger laced the prince's voice as he questioned, "Besides, how would you know about my abilities when it comes to warfare? You have not taken the time recently to see the fruits of my endeavors. When was the last time you came to see me at the archery range? Or greet me when I return home from a patrol defending your kingdom?"

His hands shaking in fury, Thranduil angled Legolas around to face him again. "My kingdom? Last time I checked, 'Prince' Legolas, Mirkwood was our kingdom. That is your problem! You're slacking off your duties as a prince. You seem to forget that I am not the only royal of this realm. One day you will inherit Mirkwood, Legolas, and if you don't want it to waste away you had better begin taking your duties more seriously."

Legolas declared, "Adar, I really am trying, but..."

"Legolas, do not give me that," snapped Thranduil. His grip tightened slightly on the broad shoulders he held in his hands."You expect me to believe you, but how can I when you are spending more time on the training field than in this castle! I cannot understand why you waste your energy being a soldier when you should focus on being a prince. That is why I had you stay behind from patrol today. You had better get used to it too. If you will not voluntarily attend to your position as prince, then so help me Valar, I will force you to!"

At these words a muscle in the prince's jaw jerked, and his fingernails bit deeply into his palms. The elf's blue eyes flashed icily as he exclaimed,"I am no politician, Adar! Don't you understand? I...I cannot sit on a throne all day babysitting a court! I would rather face an army of orcs at the gates of Mordor than listen endlessly to courtiers as they bicker amongst themselves and bring their frivolous problems before the throne. It drives me insane!" Legolas paused to swallow the the growing lump in his throat. _No, I will not show weakness._ "Devoting myself as an archer is not a waste of time, Adar. I excel at what I do! I am one of Mirkwood's best warriors. I pour so much time into it because I am angry! As an archer I can harness that anger and grief for the good of the realm and for myself. Every orc I kill defending my home and people helps me cope with losing her!" At this the prince's voice broke and a single tear meandered down his pale cheek.

Thranduil wanted to let go of his rage and wipe away the tear from his son's cheek, but he could not condone Legolas' reason. With a tone harder than he wished, he responded, "Legolas, I understand, but that is not an excuse for neglecting your duties..."

At this the younger elf wrenched himself away from his father's hold. His eyes were glassy and his chin quivered slightly with hurt. "No, you do not understand! If you cannot permit me my one means of releasing my grief then how shall I live? You cannot hope to understand me because you will not allow yourself to show any weakness before our people. Instead, you harden your heart and close your soul to all pain and trouble until our kingdom is ruled not by a king, but by a stone! Whether you like it or not, Adar, I can never be like you, nor do I want to!"

With lightening speed, the king's hand lashed out and connected with the prince's tear stained cheek. The stinging mark left on Legolas' face matched the bright red of Thranduil's face. With a voice colder than death he ordered, "Do not dare address your king like that again, or I will have you flogged and thrown in the dungeon's darkest cell. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my king I understand fully," Legolas whispered. He bowed his head, so that his father could not see the shame and pain etched on his face at his father's words.

Pride and guilt warred in Thranduil's heart at the defeated sight of his child. His son's proud shoulders sagged, and his dignified body trembled with anguish. He looked as vulnerable as an elfing. But thoughts of the words said in the last minute came flooding back to his mind. Legolas' true words pierced his ego greatly. The king's temper flared once again as his son's words echoed in his ears. _How dare Legolas challenge me! I am his father, and more importantly his king. He should respect my decisions and actions instead of undermining them, which he has been doing all day long!_ Thranduil clenched his jaw. "Get out. Get out now!"

Legolas raised his head, and stared at him in confusion. "But, Ad...I mean...my lord, this is my room."

"Whose room it is matters nothing to me! Now, do as I ordered and get out!" roared the king. "Keep out of my way, for I do not want to see you again this day."

Silently, the prince nodded and stood. The blue eyes of father and son met as Legolas turned to leave. They held the contact for moment. Each elf searched the other's eyes. One set was stony and unreadable, while the other set read heartbreak. Then with a formal bow, Legolas slipped out of the room. Little did Thranduil realize later that day he would come to regret his words, and that he may have just cut off his only hope of aid.

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**Author's Note:**

**So...what do you think? Should I continue? Please excuse my grammar mistakes. I proofread it to the best of my ability. If you see any glaring errors feel free to let me know! :) Any beta offers would also be very appreciated. **

**Translation:**

**Adar-Father**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I present to you...chapter two! Reviews and encouragements are welcomed, flames are not.**

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The popping flames of the fire could not dissipate the numbing chill that penetrated Thranduil. "Ai, Valar, what have I done?" he moaned, sinking onto the feather bed in the prince's room. The sight of his son's dejected countenance as he left extinguished the king's stoked wrath and pride. _How could I let my anger get the best of me?_

Absentmindedly, the elf toyed with a dark blue tassle that hung from the sky blue quilt. His ire was the one attribute that continuously landed him in trouble. Like having a child, his temper had it benefits, especially when it came to running a kingdom. Nevertheless, even the best child caused mischief and turmoil. Dragging a hand over his face, Thranduil wondered,"Children and conniption are so fickle. How does one handle them?"

His gaze swept the majestic, yet simply adorned, room until it landed on a picture that hung above Legolas' desk in the left-hand corner. Thranduil smiled at it. The portrait depicted a family of elves, his family. It was one of the last paintings of the royal family before that fateful orc attack many years ago on this day. The king's eyes blurred when they rested on his queen and love, Aurilian. She looked vivacious as she sat between him and Legolas and held their hands. Her knee-length silvery, flaxen hair was draped elegantly over her shoulders. The lavender dress she wore had been Thranduil's favorite as it accentuated her emerald eyes. To him, her whole being reflected light and love. Upon closer examination, Thranduil realized just how happy and lively they all looked, particularly Legolas.

The king sighed heavily. Aurilian and Legolas had adored each other. When the queen died everyone worried Thranduil would fade from grief. In reality, it was Legolas who had almost been lost to sorrow. The two were so close. Aurilian always understood their son in a way Thranduil never would. Where he could not respond in the right way to the prince, she could. Aurilian loved Legolas, while he as king had to split his love between his family and the kingdom.

It was at times like this when he and Legolas were at an impasse that Thranduil wished he had Aurilian's wisdom and patience. Valar, he missed his wife so much it physically hurt. _Is this how my son feels?_ Until their fight, the king had almost forgotten just how hard the day of her passing was for the younger elf. Reflecting back, Thranduil remembered that Legolas habitually went on patrol on the anniversary of Aurilian's death, and according to the reports his son always slew a great number of orcs or spiders. "I took him away from that today," whispered the elf. _I made him stay here in the castle where he would be assaulted with reminders of her. How much pain has my thoughtlessness caused?_

The dancing sun rays on the smooth stone wall snared Thranduil's attention. Twisting his head towards the window, the king's stomach sunk. There were only a few remaining hours of daylight left. Like Legolas, he also had his traditions on this day. A small memorial was erected at the site where Aurilian was slain. It consisted of a small blossom tree surrounded by elanor flowers. A beacon of light in the forest's darkness. Every year, the king snuck out of the castle to visit the place alone. There he would spend a time of silence, and then pour out his heart and grief as if his wife were beside him. Finally, he would blow a kiss to the wind and leave. As the elf could tell, no one knew of his visits.

Thranduil needed to depart now if he wanted to reach the memorial and have enough time to stay. A small voice in his head whispered that he needed to find his son. Yet, he refused to miss his ritual, which making amends would result in. "I will ask Legolas forgiveness when I return," the king promised himself. With that decided, the elf hurried out of the room.

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A figure stood in the shadows of a window, and silently observed the king leap into a tree and disappear into the forest. Most of the castle's occupants would be alarmed if they noticed their king leave without a guard, but the elf was not worried. He had witnessed Thranduil do this many times before.

In fact, he himself usually followed the king into the shadows of the forest. Taking great care to remain unseen, the elf would trail the king to the site where the queen had fallen. There he would hold vigil over the mourning elf. Thranduil had no knowledge of the elf's actions, and that is how the watcher wished it.

Something kept him from pursuing the king today, as he had done since he had found out about it twenty years ago. His heart still throbbed from the heated words exchanged only a half an hour ago. Leaning against the sill, Legolas questioned, "How can Adar not understand me? Is this rite of sorrow so different than me releasing my emotions through warfare? I have seen how he grieves for her."

And the young elf had. Several times the sight of his father weeping on his knees had almost persuaded Legolas to emerge from the cover of the trees and comfort the prone form. Yet, if Thranduil had wanted companionship he would have sought it long before, so the prince always remained hidden, watching. It did not mean though he would leave his father alone with his pain. The watcher knew from experience that the grief was too great to carry by oneself. While the king thought he was alone, his son was there to guard and keep him from evil and despair. Supporting his father was what his naneth would have wanted. That was the reason Legolas always came home early from patrol on this anniversary. If he could not make it home, then he would slip away and travel to the site, so that he was waiting when Thranduil arrived. No matter what, he never failed to be there.

Unfortunately, the argument threatened to change the touching routine. _Why should I go? He told me himself to stay out of his way!_ Frustration and pain battled with his heart. A small sense of uneasiness gnawed at him. Legolas slammed his fist against the wall. "He does not know. Even if he did, he would not care!" uttered the prince bitterly. There were better uses of his time. "I would prefer spending three hours on the archery practice field than overseeing Adar." With a groan, the prince buried his head in his hands. _What should I do?_

After a few moments of uncertainty, the elf raised his bowed head. His eyes glinted with decidedness as he looked out towards the woods one last time. With a shake of his head, Legolas turned and strode away from the window.

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The wind whipped Thranduil's golden hair. Tiny white blossoms from the tree showered him. Tears coursed down his cheeks. This was the one place he felt he could release his emotion unashamedly. Here, he did not have to be strong and put on a face for anyone. The elf could let his heart of stone melt without feeling like he was showing weakness. He could simply be Thranduil as he had been with his wife.

The king choked back a sob when he recalled how Aurilian would constantly urge him to be himself, to not worry what everyone else thought. Since her death, the king realized just how far he had slipped into someone he was not. It was time for that to change. Thranduil knelt on the ground and fingered an elanor. "Forgive me, Aurilian. I have forgotten to be myself. I will not make the mistake again. This I swear," he pledged softly.

The sun glowed a deep orange as it slowly descended in the sky. Nightfall was coming soon. Tugging the brown cloak he wore tighter around his shoulders, the elf rose from the ground. He released a gentle kiss to the wind. With a final glance at the memorial, Thranduil slipped into the treeline. Instead of hopping into a tree, he remained on foot. _My heart is too heavy to bound through the trees on this eve._

So absorbed was Thranduil in his thoughts that he did not notice the ominous change around him. The darkness grew thicker and the shadows more sinister even though there was still an hour of daylight left. All noise and chatter ceased as the wind whistled eerily. A sense of apprehension hung heavily in the air.

A crashing sound snapped the king out of his reverie. His warrior instincts, well honed from centuries of fighting, screamed danger. A revolting stench wafted towards him. "Yrch!" spat Thranduil. Hastily, he calculated their proximity by their clamor and smell. His stomach plummeted. The orcs were only a few minutes away. Peering into the dimness, his sharp eyes spotted their ugly, looming forms.

Suddenly, a bone chilling roar echoed through the forest. "I smell a rotten elf! He's close too. Hunt him down boys! There will be game tonight!" snarled the leader of the orc pack.

A chorus of shrieks burned in the elf's ears as he raced through the forest. Brambles and branches tore at him. Gnarled roots seemed to reach out in an attempt to trip the king. Looking around, he comprehended with horror that the orc's presence caused the trees to withdraw into themselves. There would be little help from them, even if he could spare the time to climb into one. A glance behind the elf confirmed that the orcs were gaining on him. _What possessed me to travel this part of the forest on foot?_ He did not wish to think about his fate, or Mirkwood's, if these foul creatures captured him alive.

Thranduil's pounding heart almost stopped at the sight before him. A group of orcs barreled through the foliage towards the elf. Panic hitched in his throat as a quick glance of his surroundings revealed orcs on all sides. _I am trapped!_ There was no escape.

Recognizing that their prey was caught, the heinous creatures crept towards him. They smiled twistedly as the elven scum backed away at their every step. Though he was dressed as one of the dreaded elven archers, he wore no bow or set of knives. Good, their catch would be easy to take down. He was utterly alone and doomed.

The king jumped slightly when his back pressed against the trunk of a young oak. Being a wood elf, he sought a connection with it. To his surprise, Thranduil found it had not totally closed itself to the presence of darkness. It was aware, but it shook with fear. His elven ears detected its faint, whispered cries. _I cannot enlist its help for it is too frightened._ Climbing it would do no good because he had spotted an orc armed with a bow earlier. He could do nothing, except fight.

The knowledge and abilities from his days of warfare came flooding back to Thranduil. Counting his enemies, he found them to be around thirty-five in number. The king's fingers unsheathed his only weapons, a knife and a small throwing dagger. _Valar be with me in this fight. The odds are against me._

A large, grotesque orc emerged from the group. His scimitar was crusted with blood. The way the others went silent indicated he was in charge. "Ha! The arrogant maggot thinks it can fight us! Elves are so pathetic! We'll show him! Won't we, boys? Get him!" barked the leader.

The first row of black beasts charge d at the king. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Only ten feet separated him and the orcs. Thranduil's gut twisted with fear and anticipation. _Is this how Aurilian felt when the orcs came for her?_ Five feet remained. _What will my son think when he hears both of his parents are dead by the hands of these monstrous creatures?_ Three feet left. _It will kill Legolas._ Two feet until the blades rained down on him. _No! I WILL NOT let that happen! My son WILL NOT fade because of me!_

With a war cry, Thranduil slashed at the orc nearest to him. Twirling to avoid a blade to his neck, he stabbed another beast in the belly. His knife blocked the blows as his dagger inflicted death. Within moments, four orcs lay dead.

Thranduil's world shrank to the battle he was engaged in. His thoughts swirled around his next movements, his next enemy. The king did not hear the orc's leader order more orcs into the fray. Nor did he feel the stabbing pain of steel slicing into his abdomen. The elf fought on when another blade pierced his upper chest. Thranduil stubbornly pushed aside the haze invading his vision. Mirkwood's well-being depended on him to stay alive. Legolas depended on it. He could not fall.

But, he did fall. The hilt of a scimitar crashed into the king's skull, causing him to collapse. By now, everything was a spinning darkness. His ears throbbed with the gloating, guttural laughs of the orcs. This was the end, his end. In moments he would be reunited with his love. As a foul blade plunged towards his heart, Thranduil murmured, "Forgive me, ion nin. I have failed you." Then blackness swallowed him.

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**Author's Note: Well...things don't look so good do they? A huge thank you to all those who reviewed! Reviews are food for my writer's soul! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Also, I'm still in need of a beta. The sooner I can stop tormenting readers with grammar mistakes the better! Thanks again and stay tuned!**

**Translation:**

**Naneth-Mother**

**Yrch- Orc(s)**

**Elanor- Is an elven flower (Sam named his daughter after it)**

**Ion nin- My son**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you to my viewers, followers, and those who favorited this story. I also would like to thank those who took the time to leave me a review! Reviews are a huge motivation for me :) One more thing. Since I have not seen Aurilian used for the name of Legolas' mother, or the name Calunir used, I believe those names belong to me. If not, let me know. Thanks!**

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He felt cold. It was not the steady wind that stole the warmth from him. No, it was the deep void in his heart. Nothing could seal the hole torn open. The elf had lost a part of himself the day she died. _Oh, Nana, I feel so desolate without you!_

The prince shut his eyes as memories of that day flashed in his mind. He had been on patrol when the sound of a horn blasted through the forest. Two short blasts followed the first rapidly. Since three quick blasts signalled a group of elves under attack, Legolas and his soldiers had rushed through the woods to the scene of the fight. It took them only twenty minutes. When they arrived, the prince's knees gave way at the sight that greeted them. The bodies of fifteen elves were strewn across the leaves of the forest floor, including a female's. Legolas did not need to see the emblem of the royal guard etched on the brooches of the fallen elves, or the red-stained hem of the silver dress he knew so well, to know that his naneth was dead. Her body had already been covered by a cloak to hide her gruesome injuries. Calunir, the captain of the other patrol who had responded to call for aid, refused to let him see or hold his nana because her body was so broken. Unbeknownst to the captain, the prince did cradle the queen's pale, cold hand when nobody was looking. A tidal wave of guilt, loneliness, and sorrow had flooded Legolas. He failed to come in time; to protect his beloved nana as those Valar-forsaken orcs slayed her. The mantra of _she is gone, dead_ screamed in his head. At that moment, all the young elf could do was curl into himself and sob. After a time, one of his archers had lifted the prince, and led him away from the scene that smelled so strongly of blood, death, and despair. Fifty years later, the emotions from that day still plagued Legolas, especially the emptiness.

Now, the only thing left of her that he could touch was the tree blossoming in front of him. The elf extended a hand to finger the soft bark. Immediately, he felt the life pulsing through the tree. It giggled and fluttered at his touch. _Such innocence in a place threatened with such darkness. Just like nana._ The rich, honey smell of the small blooms tickled his nose. His mind and muscles relaxed, while he sighed deeply. "If only my life could be as simple and carefree like yours, mellon nin," remarked Legolas gently. The branches of the sapling rustled above his head, raining petals into his braided hair. "No, I cannot stay here with you!" laughed the elf for the first time in a long time. "I have responsibilities to tend to, and an adar who would miss me. Hannon le though, mellon."

Suddenly, the tree gave a shudder, and the elanors that brushed the prince's brown, leather boots seemed to wilt. "What is it? What do you sense?" inquired the alarmed elf. The answer he received caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up.

Legolas' whole demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. His fair face tightened, and his laughing eyes became stony. A vigilant posture replaced the relaxed one. The elf's left hand lingered just above his shoulder, ready to take up his bow if needed.

All of his senses were on high alert. The orcs were near, but upon surveying the woods that circled him, he saw none. A thin smile graced the prince's face. _Good, I shall not have to engage the orcs alone. When I return to the castle, I will lead a group of archers to finish them off._ While his heart itched to kill the foul beasts, he knew his chances were better with more elves at his side than by himself.

High-pitched cries reached Legolas' ears. The screams belonged to the trees. Closing his eyes, the elf focused on their frantic words. His eyes burst open and fear froze his soul. The orcs were chasing an elf, and that elf could only be the king of Mirkwood.

Not wasting another precious second, the prince dashed to the nearest tree and sprang into it. Deftly, he dodged the branches and twigs that stood in his way. The trees, sensing the elf's urgency, stopped their withdrawal into themselves enough to lower and stretch their boughs so he could easily travel from one to the next.

Legolas' heart hammered painfully with each step and thought. _I must reach Adar in time! I must not fail! Not again!_ The forest around him howled with shouts of distress and pleas for urgency. Looking ahead, he saw why. The elf's eyes widened with horror at the sight of his father trapped by the orcs. _No!_

He pumped his legs harder. Never had he run so fast. Legolas prayed as he watched the first wave of monsters assault his father. _Valar, please let me reach him in time! Please!_ Two orcs fell by the king's hand. _I have already lost one parent to these barbarous creatures. I cannot survive the loss of another!_ With a series of quick strokes by his father the other two orcs lay dead at his feet. _Yes, keep fighting! I am coming, Adar, just hang on._

Only a short distance remained between the archer and the battle for the king's life. Three more trees to cross, and then he would be within firing range. More orcs attacked his father while Legolas nocked an arrow. His body went numb as an orc got through Thranduil's defenses. The prince fired an arrow, yet it was already too late. The scene of the scimitar stabbing his father felt like a searing dagger in Legolas' heart. Hot tears stung his eyes. _Ada! Oh, Valar, no!_ Five trees left before the elf reached the oak the king fell against.

A pair of orcs moved to strike their wounded opponent. Another arrow left Legolas' bow. It hit its mark in one of the beasts, but the other still stood. Despair choked the prince when he witnessed its blade stick the king in the chest. Legolas' lips parted in a silent scream. He strained his eyes in a desperate attempt to detect the rise and fall of his father's bleeding chest. Just two trees separated him from joining the fight.

As Legolas leapt to the oak, the flash of a scimitar caught his eye. It was aimed at Thranduil's heart. _Oh no you don't! Not if my bow has anything to say about it!_ Faster than lightning, the archer strung an arrow and let it fly. The corpse of the blade's owner hit the ground the same time the prince landed in front of the motionless form of his father.

There was no time to check on the older elf because the orcs demanded Legolas' immediate attention. His twin knives sang death as the prince slid them from their sheaths.

"What's this? Another varmint?" crowed the orc leader with a devilish grin.

"No," the archer retorted in a voice colder than ice,"I am your worst nightmare!"

The horde of foul creatures burst into a symphony of course laughs at these words. Some stepped to attack the elf, but a quick jerk from their leader stayed their attempts. The leader growled, "Fool of an elf! You cannot hope to defeat us. We will cut you down where you stand!"

"You may succeed, you may not. It matters nothing to me," declared Legolas, defiance chiseled on his noble face. "I will fight until my death!"

The giant orc snorted,"The scum at your feet is ours. Step aside, and we will make your death quick and less painful."

The world seemed to slow to a halt. Fate sickeningly presented the prince with the chance that he desired to have when his naneth died, to fight for his parent's life. The existence of his life, and the life of the one unconscious beneath him, rested on his next movements. Different thoughts and emotions invaded him. _Is the battle worth fighting?_ Scouring the horde in front of him, the elf counted twenty-five orcs. _Am I skillful enough to take them all down before they killed me?_ Though father and son had their difference at times, they still cared for each other. It was his duty as an archer and prince of Mirkwood to defend his king. _Yes, I will fight this battle because he is not just my king, but more importantly my ada! And I love him more than enough to give my life for him._

Legolas squared his shoulders. His eyes narrowed to slits as he planted his feet. "You will have to drain every single drop of blood from my body before I let you touch him with your vile hands!" the prince pronounced, his voice firm and hard.

"That can be arranged," grinned the leader with blood encrusted teeth. Hoisting his own weapon, the orc roared, "Attack!"

_Valar help me,_ Legolas silently entreated, raising his glinting knives to meet the onslaught. A deadly "clang" resounded from the clashing steel. The elf shoved away the blades aimed at his neck with his own. He hurriedly followed the move up with two simultaneous stabs to the chests of two orcs. _Twenty three left._

Detecting a whooshing sound to his right, the prince ducked and, swiped the legs off of his attacker. A slash behind his back with one of his knives ended in the death of another foe. Legolas removed the blade from one stomach and planted it in another, while with his other he sliced through another's jugular vein.

A fiery flash of pain engulfed his left calf as a sword bit into it deeply. He quelled the cry that tickled his throat. A flick of the archer's own weapon finished his enemy, but not before a long gash was carved into his leg. Forcefully, Legolas ignored the blazing agony. There was no time to be distracted. The constant assailment of the foul creatures barely allowed for him to breath before the next foe challenged him. _I must continue fighting for Adar's and my sake._

The battle became a whirl for the prince. A deadly game against him and the orcs. It was killed or be killed. Every direction he turned stood a beast, and the moment he slayed one, another replaced it. His arms and knives became a silver blur of strokes. Twist, parry, stab, were moves he executed repeatedly. His ivory blades acted as poisonous serpents, inflicting death upon all they struck. Sweat glistened on the elf's face, and his chest heaved with exertion. Even as crimson trickled down his injured leg, Legolas dueled on with gritted teeth. He intended to fulfill his promise. They would not take his king until the last drop of his blood was poured from his tiring body.

Only ten of the monsters remained. Avoiding the swipe of a scimitar to his head, the archer slid between the legs of a particularly large orc while fatally embedding his knife in its abdomen. _That one is for Adar, swine!_ Legolas rolled to the side in order to dodge the sword bearing down on his chest. Swiftly, he kicked the legs out from under his opponent. The unfortunate creature found the elf's blade in his black heart, instead of the other way around.

Leaping gracefully to his feet, Legolas tallied the number of orcs. _Eight more to go._ His warrior instincts yelled in warning. The bombardment of a dagger and club came from opposite directions. The elf's steel deflected one of the threatening weapons, however the club smashed into him. Legolas' ribs groaned from the impact as he pitched forward.

Three beasts took advantage of their adversary's fall and piled on him. In the process, one of the orcs, in his eagerness, managed to impale himself on his crony's spear. After finagling his knives out from underneath him, the prince finished off the other two with jabs to their throats. _Three down._

Black blood spurted the archer's face when he drove his steel into the face of yet another of the foul creatures. The earth trembled from the heavy footsteps of a desperate orc attempting to sneak up on the prince. In a swirling motion, one of the elven knives caught the blow, while the other bit deeply into slimy flesh. _All but three have fallen._

The orc leader shrieked with fury."Your luck ends now maggot! We will eat your flesh, and the flesh of your dead friend, for dinner after I kill you slowly!

"Come and get me, filth!" dared the elf, jerking his golden head back haughtily.

The trio haltingly advanced upon their foe. Blue eyes darted back and forth between them, anticipating their next move. Everything came down to this.

Then the unexpected happened. All of them brandished their weapons and converged on Legolas at once. The elf's stomach twisted with fear, he could only counter two of them, leaving him open game to the other. _Valar..._ was the only word he prayed before the dark monsters slammed into him. Both of his blades pierced different orcs, one in the throat, the other in the stomach. Frantically, the prince attempted to remove one of his knives from the cold bodies so that he could sink it into the last beast alive. But, it was too late.

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**Author's Note: What do you think? Quite the cliffhanger huh? FYI- Life is getting busier with college starting right around the corner, so I may, or may not, be able to update next Sunday. I will update as soon as possible though. Thanks for reading and stay tuned :) **

**Translation:**

**Mellon/Mellon nin: Friend/My Friend**

**Ada: Dad/Daddy**

**Nana: Mom/Mommy**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Chapter four is finally here! Thank you so much for waiting! I really appreciate it along with the reviews, followers, and favorites. You guys are great! Enjoy! (FYI- Just warning you it gets a bit graphic) **

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Disgust and anger burned within him. _How dare the scum!_ Everything was going right, and dinner was within reach, until the maggot appeared from the blasted trees. Now, almost all of his troop lay crumpled on the ground, lifeless. _They were stupid, worthless hides of filth anyway._ Still, each orc that fell meant one less guard between him and the deadly flashing steel. His cruel, cracked lips twisted as the wounded elf cut down orc after orc. The being of light moved almost faster than his beady eyes could track. The knives never faltered and each one landed true. With a black expletive, he inwardly cursed the speed and agility of the firstborn. If he lived ten thousand years he would never be able to understand them, especially their sense of loyalty. Unfailingly, elves risked their immortal lives for another no matter the odds. It was both a strength and a weakness of their race. For the warrior before him, it proved a weakness. The elf was going to die for the sake of the one at his feet. _How pathetic! Throwing one's life away for another._ His fingers itched to plant his scimitar into the elf, and relish his expression of shock and horror as his immortality was drained from him. _There is not a more pleasurable sight than the dying face of one of the firstborn. _

The particularly agonized squeal of an orc pulled him from his musings. His nostrils flared as he realized only he and two others remained. _Time to end this!_ A growl to the duo beside him caused them to tighten their claws on their blades. All three pairs of eyes met in understanding. There was only one way to take down this elf, simultaneously.

Unable to resist the scalding urge, he declared to the tree lover his doom. The warrior's arrogant retort inflamed him. Baring his fangs, he, and his two remaining soldiers, advanced upon their foe. When they were only five feet in front of the elf, they rushed him. The elf's eyes bulged with alarm. _Ha! He knows he cannot ward off all of us together. Now, I will savor the bloody taste of victory!_

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Legolas furiously tugged at the knives wedged into the bodies of orcs, but they were stuck. _Come on! Come on! Come on!_ Out of his peripheral vision, the prince could see the orc leader. He would not survive the blow currently raining down toward his skull unless he could block it. _Eru, please, I beg you! Help me free a knife!_ With a sucking sound the knife in his right hand popped out. In the fraction of a second, the archer raised it to deflect the ugly steel.

A clash rang through the air as the weapons met. The massive force behind the monster's blade sent the elven knife sailing through the air, and Legolas crashing to the ground, weaponless.

His head cracked against the oak, causing stars to dance around it. A stinking, crushing weight toppled on his chest and forced the air out of his lungs. Panic seized the elf's heart.

Stabbing, white pain exploded in his right shoulder. Legolas screamed as the orc's sharp teeth and talons sliced through several layers of muscle. He struggled to maneuver away from the foul creature's acrid fangs. They only dug deeper. Desperately, the prince punched the orc with his left hand, to no avail. Darkness crept into his vision. _Aaahhh! It cannot end like this! It can't! Ada and Mirkwood are depending on me. Valar!...I am going to die._

His last thread of hope was waning with his consciousness when fate intervened. The pressure of the orc suddenly lifted, and a thud resounded on the ground next to the elf. Groans echoed from both the tree above him and the beast. Leaves sprinkled a gasping Legolas as the branches of the oak bent down and angrily pummeled the dark creature. Soon, the moans ceased to escape the orc. All was quiet.

Pain, searing pain, engulfed the prince._ Ai it hurts!_ He just wanted to lay there, and let the inviting blackness at the corners of his vision free him of the pain. The concerned caress of the oak aroused the archer's senses. Its croonings of anxiety and relief warmed his heart. "Hannon le, mellon nin. You saved my life and I am indebted to you," Legolas croaked.

Several moments passed before he gathered enough strength to prop himself up. His shoulder, chest, and leg cried out in protest. Dizziness swirled in his pounding skull. Sweat pooled along his golden hair line. "I must see to him." A cursory glance around confirmed all of his enemies were dead.

Using his left arm, the prince dragged himself the few feet to the king. Crimson pooled beneath the form. Thranduil remained still, deathly still. The prince choked, "Please, no. I cannot lose him after everything." Trembling fingers rested under the ashen chin, afraid of what they would not discover.

A thready pulse beat against his bloodstained fingertips. "Hannon le, Valar," whispered Legolas as he collapsed with exhaustion and relief. His whole body shook with pain and weariness. _I have to rise. There is still work to be done. Adar's wounds need tending or he will perish._

Propping himself up against the oak, he reached for the pouch attached to his belt. The elf had been in enough battles to realize the wisdom of carrying medical supplies and herbs. _Traipsing around with Aragorn has taught me well._

Quickly, he removed the contents and sat them beside the king. "Now, comes the task of turning him over so that I make look at his wounds," groaned the archer. Biting his lip, Legolas slid his arms under his father and heaved. The frayed muscles and nerves in his wounded shoulder flared like fire. _It's too much_. As gently as he could, the prince lowered the unconscious form back onto the ground.

"Cursed yrch! If only my shoulder was not maimed!" he yelled, running his hand through his tangled hair in frustration. In all his years of battle never had he been so hindered by an injury, especially when the life of another rested on his ability to function. _Think, Legolas. Think! If I fail to turn Adar over he will bleed to death._

The tree behind him creaked as it once again leaned forward to come to his rescue. Careful not to jostle Thranduil, it boughs hoisted the king and placed him on his back beside his son. "Eru bless you, young one!" Legolas murmured with a thankful pat on its rough trunk.

Apprehension filled him. The medical supplies and the bleeding wounds of his father stared at the young elf. His breath hitched. _I cannot tend my adar's wounds! His injuries are too severe for my skill! I am only an archer. No! Stop! I can do this. I MUST do this! What would Aragorn and Lord Elrond do? First, they would examine the wound and stop the bleeding._

The prince's hands traveled to the red patches of dark green tunic surrounding his adar's chest and stomach. A couple of slices from the healing kit's small knife showed the extent of the gashes. Sucking in his breath through his teeth, Legolas cautiously probed the blood slicked wounds with his left hand. The stomach wound was long, and the chest wound was semi-deep. The blow had missed the king's heart. The younger elf touched wet muscle and veins, though he found no critically damaged organs. The Valar had been watching out for his ada."Good." _They are deep, but not so deep that I am unable to sufficiently close them with sutures. If I apply herbs and seal the openings, he should last long enough for us to reach the castle._ The facts that Thranduil's heartbeat was still too sluggish and the bleeding was not clotting quickly caused the archer to frown. _The greatest threat lies in poison and infection. However, I must stop this bleeding, or the poison will have not time to take effect._

Snatching up the small stack of white bandages, Legolas bound them around the older elf's injuries._ This will stop the bleeding until I am ready to sew them up._ The process was tedious and awkward, as unrelentless spasms of agony shot down his right arm from his shoulder, forcing him to use only one hand. After a couple of minutes the task was complete.

Lines of concern etched upon the fair countenance as the prince eyed the bandages. "There is more blood on them than there should be." Gazing from the bindings to his right arm, he realized why. Streaks of blood glided down it. His leggings looked no better for they were dark red instead of their original color of earthy brown. _Ai! I have forgotten to dress my own wounds._ Legolas scowled, "Aragorn would throttle me if he knew."

There was one problem, he needed to use all the bandages on Thranduil. _Can nothing go right for me?_ His glazed eyes fell on his adar's cloak. The whistling wind stopped the archer from using the cloak. Elves were usually immune to the cold, but that ability was sometimes compromised when they were wounded. Yet, Legolas already felt the effects of lightheadedness. If did not use the cover as a means to staunch and cover his own injuries then blood loss would render him helpless, jeopardizing both elves. The archer could not get around the dilemma. The situation demanded him to risk his father's health in order to preserve his own. "Forgive me, Ada. It is imperative that I use the cloak for both our sakes," explained the troubled elf as if trying to justify his action. _I can only pray he will not succumb to the cold. This is something I would want Ada, or even Aragorn, to do if they were in my place._

Hastily, and painfully, he wrapped the lacerations with pieces from the cloak. The prince then turned to the next task, stitching up Thranduil's wounds. His slim fingers fumbled through his meager stock of herbs. Seizing the athelas, he bruised them in his hands. _They will help keep any poison at bay. Wait, they need to be applied wet._ A search of his belt and the king's turned up no water. The one source of moisture available was the prince's saliva. "Very well. I have no other choice," he sighed while popping the leaves into his mouth. A sweet, ambrosial flavor flooded his mouth. Instantly, his distressed body began to relax.

After letting the herbs sit in his mouth for a minute, Legolas spit them out and coated them on the bloody injuries. The pale skin of his father quivered as the needle pierced it. Tears stung the prince's eyes. It hurt to see his kin in so much pain. Valar, it hurt so much to see his ada, his hero, in this deathly state! _Why? Why him? Have we not suffered enough?_ He was unable to dwell further on his inner turmoil because the process of sewing up the gashes required all his attention. Five minutes later, both of the king's afflictions were closed.

The pink hues of the setting sun glared into his blue eyes. _Half an hour until nightfall. Darkness will be upon us, and so will the evil creatures of the night. I am too weak to fight. We need to reach the safety of the castle._ Determination shone on the archer's drawn face.

He scooted closer to the unconscious elf. "Fear not, Adar, we will reach the fortress. Instead of you carrying me, as you did those nights when I was an elfing, I shall carry you home and put you to bed." Once he finished situating the king over his left shoulder, Legolas rose to his knees while leaning heavily against the oak's trunk.

Immediately, the prince's left knee buckled. The pair hit the ground with a thump, resulting in a wave of nausea and burst of anguish in his shoulder for Legolas. His ribs ached fiercely. Shaking hands ran over his leg, searching for breaks. There seemed to be no breaks in the bone, but the gash was severe enough to cause the leg to cave from too much pressure. _I will have to shift the majority of Adar's weight to my right side._

The gravity of the situation assaulted Legolas as he once again tried to lift the older elf bridal style. He felt the muscle and ligaments in his shoulder tear further with the added weight. The prince was no healer, nevertheless he knew bearing the king would result in great damage to his shoulder, possibly irreparable damage. He was forced to make the unthinkable choice between his adar, or his shoulder.

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**Author's Note: Decisions, decisions, decisions. Glad I am not in Legolas' place. I hope that was worth the two week wait. Thanks again for reading and your patience. Reviews are quite welcomed and enjoyed!**

**Translation:**

**Hannon le - Thank you**

**Eru - One of the Valar**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Here it is! Forgive me for not updating sooner, but college started last week and I have been super busy. Thank you for your patience! I also want to thank everyone for reading, reviewing, and favoriting! You guys rock! Now, onto the long awaited chapter 5.**

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A battle was raging in Legolas' mind. To make the decision was impossible, but unavoidable. _I cannot._ To a human, dwarf, hobbit, or even Istar the choice would be simple, not so with one of the firstborn. For an elf, especially a wood elf, either choice held heartbreak and loss. Tears of distress and pain rolled down the archer's cheeks. "Adar, I am unsure of what I should do! If only you were awake to guide me." Legolas lamented.

His father's precarious state prohibited the prince from leaving him and seeking help. Besides, even if the king were stable enough, he was unarmed and too injured to defend himself from the creatures that roamed Mirkwood at night. There were no patrols in the area, and no one knew where the two had gone, which meant it would take hours for help to arrive. The comatose elf in the archer's arms could not last that long, neither could Legolas. _I...I have to save him. Yet, if I do I will lose almost all I hold dear. It is his life or mine. Ai Valar!_ The prince would keep his life in the physical sense, but forfeit it in every other way.

As an archer, his whole existence revolved around the use of his shoulder. His adar claimed that he did not know his role as prince. In reality, Legolas did. Being a prince of his people, it was his duty to protect his people from the shadow and its minions. For centuries, the elf had poured his time and efforts into perfecting his fighting skills. Night after night, Legolas snuck to the empty practice range, and fired arrow after arrow, after arrow. How could he protect his people and his home if his shoulder was crippled and useless? Thranduil was renowned as one of Middle Earth's greatest warriors, never did he realize that his son was determined to follow in his mighty footsteps. Since the time when he was a small elfing, the prince dreamed of possessing the title of the best archer in Middle Earth. Slamming his fists into the ground, he moaned,"Now, I will never be able to attain my goal. All of it was for naught!"

_Everything will change._ A lame shoulder incapacitated him from firing an arrow from his bow, or adequately defending himself with a blade, much less two. He would be forced to resign his captaincy and retire from warfare. It was harsh, but reality. Mirkwood could not risk sending handicapped soldiers into battle because it jeopardized both the safety of the patrol and the warrior.

Debilitated, or not, Legolas was still a prince of Mirkwood. Instead of functioning as a protector of his realm, he would serve in the court as his father did now. The elf's heart chilled at the thought. One word summarized his view of this position, torture. The words that he had uttered only a few hours earlier surged to the forefront of his mind. _I am no politician, Adar! Don't you understand? I...I cannot sit on a throne all day babysitting a court! I would rather face an army of orcs at the gates of Mordor than listen endlessly to courtiers as they bicker amongst themselves and bring their frivolous problems before the throne. It drives me insane!_

The prince did not care for diplomatic matters, he loved the forest and nature. _Stone walls and self-centered elves will be my constant companions in place of the trees._ The dark greenery blurred as he glanced at the woods through glassy eyes. Legolas whispered, "Ai! I will not survive! What good is living life if it suffocates me?"

A stinging pang vibrated through his lip from biting it in thought. "Is it worth it? Am I willing to lose everything?" questioned the archer brokenly. The elf trained the majority of his long life so that he was prepared when he faced the battle of his life. Never had he imagined the fight would be against himself for his Adar's life. Legolas was willing to physically die for Thranduil, but a living death of pain and purposeless imperilled his resolve.

The warm liquid drenching his olive tunic heightened his sense of urgency. _I must decide now._ The prince shut out the world around him. He could only hear his racing heartbeat, thudding with life. It seemed to faintly whisper the answer to his predicament. Beside the elf lay a heart he had the power to save.

Life without the use of his shoulder would be agonizing, but life without his father would be unlivable. Legolas was not ready to let his adar go, and carry the heavy burden of the kingdom by himself. Throughout the trying years after his naneth's death, his ada, though stern, had been his one constant pillar of support. Displaying emotion did not come naturally to Thranduil. Still, Legolas could recognize his adar's pain and love when he looked closely enough. If their places were reversed, the older elf would not hesitate to save his beloved son. _Eru, forgive me. I have been selfish._ This day already marked the death of one parent, the archer would rather die before he let it mark the passing of Mirkwood's king, no matter the consequences to himself.

Gently, Legolas brushed the stray strands of golden hair away from his adar's ashen, pinched face. "Come, Ada, I am taking you home," he affirmed with a strong voice. The oak having up until the moment observed silently, began to ripple.

The dimming blue color of the prince's eyes brightened at the tree's words. _Sending word for aid by the trees. Why did I not think of that?_ Nodding his pounding head, he commanded, "Yes, hannon le, mellon nin. Pass along word to the elven castle of our want for assistance. They must be notified that the king is gravely wounded. I will carry him for as far as I am able or until they meet me."

Sliding his arms gingerly under the older elf, the younger braced himself for the onslaught of agony that was sure to come in the next few moments. His broken ribs burned as his lungs gulped in deep breaths. The advice of his mentors floated back from his memory, _'Breathe, breathe through the pain.' I have already wasted too much time. It is now or never._ Gritting his teeth, the archer stood.

The inky shadows of the night obscured the first born's countenance of immense anguish. Distress contorted his face, and a scream clawed to be loosed from his mouth. His perceptive ears heard the ligaments tear in his shoulder. It was pure torture! Lightning stabs of pain burned up and down his injured leg. Sweat pooled on the prince's forehead. His body quaked with the urge to collapse. "No! I will not give up!" he grunted.

Determined, Legolas cradled his ada close to his chest against the whistling wind. There was no going back, or they would both die. _Put one foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Never mind the fortress is an hour away if one is not injured. Take it one step at a time._ Staggering, the archer began the long trek home.

The forest awakened from their slumber to offer the wounded elf encouragement. The trees whispered and the creatures of light still awake chattered. Legolas could not reply. It was too much effort. He had to fight with every step. Battle the piercing pain in his head, legs, ribs, and shoulder. Each move felt like fire eating him alive. Every breath was a struggle due to his injury and the pressure of the elf in his arms against his chest. More importantly, he opposed the encroaching blackness that ebbed at his consciousness. _The pain matters not. I will sacrifice everything, even my life to reach help for Ada._

The Shadow's suffocating evil seemed to surround the pair. Willing the being of light to give up. Mirkwood would crumble without its heirs. Despite it all, the prince trudged on, praying. "Valar, please do not allow us to be attacked. I cannot defend myself, much less the both of us."

Thirty minutes passed. The usual light-footed creature began stumbling steadily. It became harder and harder for the prince to catch himself and not drop the burden he carried. He gasped to the king,"We are drawing closer, Adar. You will soon be within help's grasp."

The archer noticed a sudden wetness to the front of his tunic. His eyes widened in horror. "No!" cried Legolas as he looked down to find blood soaking the bandages around Thranduil's middle and chest. There were no more bandages to dress the wounds with. He could feel the trembling of the unconscious elf against him. "Poison! Ada is running out of time. I have to quicken my pace!"

Valiantly, Legolas pushed his exhausted body harder so that he was almost jogging. He continued at this speed for several minutes until he tripped over a gnarled root. After tumbling a few feet, the two landed with a sickening thud. "Aaahh!" the prince groaned. The hurt stole his breath from him.

When his stunned lungs began functioning again, his heart almost stopped at Thranduil's breathing pattern. The younger elf's fingers desperately sought a pulse. It was barely perceptible. _He is dying!_ "Ada, no! Do not do this too me! We are so close. Hang on!" yelled the king's son. _Even if I could run. I would not reach the castle in time. He will not last._ _There has to be something I can do!_ Nothing came to him.

Lifting the older elf's head into his lap, Legolas held him. "Ada...please, you can...cannot die. Do not leave me alone, I beg you! Fight this! I will not survive the grief! I am unable rule Mirkwood and lead our people. I cannot do this without you, Ada." _My adar is dying and I am powerless to stop it!_ Droplets of his tears smeared his adar's face. Burying his head into Thranduil's neck, the prince sobbed. "Ada, don't die! Please, please, please don't die! Do not leave me, Ada! I love you! I love you so much..." _Valar why?_

Then the answer came to him. There was one chance to preserve the king's life. A healing transfer. It was used in the most dire of cases. In a transfer, one elf transferred an amount of their own life source and light to another dying elf.

Very few elven healers had the ability to do it. However, it was said that those who had both royal and elvish blood could also execute it. It was risky, for usually only the most experienced healers, like Elrond, could perform it. The danger lay in the donor giving to much of their life source which could end in death. Though he had little knowledge in the healing arts, and was very weak, Legolas had to attempt it.

Closing his eyes in concentration, the prince sifted through his memories at Imladris. He had witnessed Elrond do the transfer once before on Elrohir. Uncovering the scene, Legolas focused on recounting it, particularly Elrond's words and movements.

Carefully, the young elf placed a hand on his ada's chest, while wrapping his other around Thranduil's limp hand. Next, the archer touched his forehead to the king's. _All is ready. I may never wake up from this trance._ There was so much he wanted to say to the older elf. Squeezing the hand in his grasp, Legolas murmured, "Ai, Ada, I love you! Forgive me, for I have wronged you. I have not been the son or prince I should have been. You were right, I neglected my duties in order to perfect my fighting skills. And what good did my skills accomplish? I failed to achieve my oath which was to protect you, my king and adar. I am a failure, and not suitable to be the son of the great, mighty king of Mirkwood."

Gulping down the lump in his throat, he continued chokingly, "Maybe one day you will forgive me. Though I was unable to fulfill my oath to protect you, I will succeed in my other promise to not let you die. My last breaths will be used fighting to save you. I hope you will understand. Good bye, Ada. I love you."

The woods around the two wept. Their hearts broke as the archer gave one last parting glance to his friends, and bowed his head. Though the trees strained to hear, the Quenyan words Legolas began chanting were indiscernible. His inner light began to shine brilliantly against the murky darkness.

After a few seconds, the light travelled into the motionless being in the prince's arms. Both elves' glows brightened. The transfer was working, but Legolas' glow started to steadily fade. He was dying.

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**Author's Note: No greater love has one than laying down his life for someone else. Sorry again for the delay, but school comes first. Hope you like the healing transfer part. I watched Lord of the Rings recently and saw Arwen performing something like it on Frodo at the river scene in Fellowship of the Ring. Reviews are always appreciated and loved! BTW- I will try my hardest to update next week!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Happy Labor Day! Thank you for waiting, reading, reviewing, and favoriting! Always makes my day :) *_Important information in the Author's Note_ _at the bottom_ so please read* **

**(Disclaimer: Once again, I have not seen the name Renias used, so I will claim him as mine. Let me know if this should not be the case..thanks)**

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_Everything feels wrong._ Evil permeated the night, and the blackness seemed grimmer than ever. _It is as if the fate of Mirkwood is teetering on the edge of doom._ Clouds shrouded the moon from sight, while the wind howled. The crickets and the birds of the night did not join their melodious voices in song. Most disconcerting were the trees. Instead of happily gossiping among themselves, they cried mournfully. The entire forest atmosphere bespoke tragedy.

Dread gnawed at the elf's stomach, spurring him to run even faster through the woods. His patrol silently matched the harefooted pace. Anxiety carved rigid lines of severity on their countenances, as each remembered a similar night from decades ago. Calunir's calloused hands curled into fists. The horrendous pictures of his slain queen still plagued the captain, and now he was racing to possibly discover the same fate had befallen King Thranduil. _Valar, spare him!_ Very few instances in his life had Calunir felt the despairing burden of life, tonight and Queen Aurilian's death were two of them.

_How did he slip out without us noticing?_ Inwardly, the captain berated himself for asking such a question. The male members of Mirkwood's royal family were notorious for their slyness, and speed. Even for an elf, both the king and the prince possessed an uncanny ability to silently blend into their surroundings. To the chagrin of the castle's occupants, Thranduil and his son employed their talent to escape from the pressing life of royalty, and disappear into the forest. Calunir lacked enough fingers and toes to count the number of occasions he and his patrol had spent hours searching for the two. _And Thranduil complains about Legolas' 'antics', when he is just as bad,_ thought the captain with a smirk.

The urgency of the patrol's mission immediately wiped the grin off his face. The king was alone, injured, dying. No, not alone. The message from the trees indicated that there was another elf with his liege. Questions swirled in the warrior's head because the trees had not given the name of King Thranduil's savior. Who was this mysterious elf? How did he find the king? Were they both wounded? Answers to his question would emerge soon enough. First, they had to reach their ruler. Supposedly, the elf was carrying King Thranduil back to the elven stronghold. It was the captain's task to meet the pair and assist Mirkwood's ailing monarch.

A pale, lanky elf at the back of the group raised his hand in protest. His chest heaved with exertion, and his breath came in short gasps. Sweat trickled down his reddened cheeks. While elves were known for their endurance, they could only go so far at such a neck-breaking speed without rest, especially an elf not used to such exercise. "Captain, please, for Eru's sake, slow down! I cannot tend to King Thranduil's wounds if I pass out from exhaustion!"panted Renias.

Calunir suppressed the urge to groan at the healer's request. His raven locks swished in the air, as he jerked his head to look at those running behind him. Flinty green eyes swept over his company. Though the elves masked it remarkably well, his trained eyes recognized that they were tiring. _Still, our liege is dying! A few seconds could mean life or death for him._ The captain grunted, "No, we must keep our pace. The king requires our aid, and his health comes before our own."

"Saes, I need only a moment," Renias pleaded. "I am unused to this strenuous activity in the healing ward, and I am not as young as I used to be."

Green eyes met the healer's gray ones. This was the exact reason Calunir was against his longtime friend coming with them. The years spent as Mirkwood's primary healer had not sharpened the silver-haired elf's physical endurance. Yet, the uncertainty of Thranduil's state called for Renias to accompany the patrol. The captain ached to grant the fatigued healer rest, but past experience held him back. The same suffocating foreboding filled his heart as it did the day the king's wife died.

With a shake of his head, Calunir answered in a hardened voice, "I am sorry, mellon nin. We continue on. I came too late to save one member of the royal family, and I will not be haunted by the same mistake again!"

As Renias opened his mouth to respond, the forest came alive in a way that chilled the elves to the bone. A chorus of heart-wrenching wails from the trees and animals resounded throughout the woods. The trees began withdrawing into themselves in utter despair. Something, or someone was dying.

_No!_ The captain pumped his legs harder than he ever had before. "Come on! Faster!" he urged. Their surroundings became a dark blur. The almost silent gloating of the darkness pounded in their ears and hearts. They dashed as if all the orcs of Mordor chased them. The patrol's only focus was to reach their king. Even Renias ran with renewed strength and speed. They darted over and under tree limbs, and sprinted from tree to tree. A faint golden aura was discernable before the company's eyes just over a hundred yards away. They would reach the light in less than a minute.

The elves' hearts seized at the sight they came upon. A bloodied, unconscious King Thranduil slumped in a warrior's arms. Knees buckling, Calunir cried. "Ai Eru! Not again, please not again!"A wisp of air fluttered by his strained face as Renias rushed forward.

The pale healer immediately removed his lord from the folds of the warrior's arms. It was then that Renias noticed both elves were senseless, and the identity of the king's savior. "Valar! It is Prince Legolas!" squeaked the healer in disbelief and horror.

"What?!" exclaimed the captain dismally. "It cannot be!" _Can the situation get any worse?_ Instantly, he was on his knees at Renias' side. Calunir scanned the two for life threatening injuries. Blood covered both father and son, and continued to ooze from various wounds. Legolas' shoulder was a mess of ripped tissue and muscle. The king had stab wounds to his chest and abdomen. Worst of all, Legolas was freezing to the touch, and dim. "Renias! Something is wrong with the prince!"

The healer, who was rummaging through his healing kit, looked up and studied the young elf. His face fell. "Alas, he seems to be fading, yet…" His brows knit in deep concentration. Suddenly, his eyes bulged with with comprehension. _Surely not!_ Crawling over to Legolas, Renias uttered, "I pray to the Valar I am wrong. The prince is displaying the symptoms of a healing transfer."

"What does that mean?" questioned one of the warriors from the patrol that protectively circled the foursome.

Shaking his head, the healer acknowledged,"There is no time to explain. If Legolas is to have a chance of survival, I must sever the connection between him and the king now! It may already be too late. I only hope my skill is enough to do so without killing the prince. Ai! If only Lord Elrond were here!"

Gently, Renias set the king down, in order to concentrate solely on his new goal, saving the life of Mirkwood's heir. He placed a hand on each of his patient's brows, closed his eyes, and began to whisper a string of Quenyan words.

Calunir watched helplessly as the scene unfolded. Within moments, the healer trembled violently, sweat pouring down his face. Thranduil's glimmer paled, but Legolas' state and temperature remained unchanged. Renias' countenance was that of a soldier doing intense battle. Calunir had not seen that fierce expression on his friend since Renias last fought in the War of the Last Alliance. Oropher had perished before the healer's eyes; would Oropher's grandon die in his arms?

As soon as it began, it was over. The prince's aura flickered and disappeared. The healer crumpled onto the younger elf's chest, too exhausted to support himself. All was still.

"Renias, mellon nin! Are you all right?" inquired Calunir anxiously. Responding to his captain's silent order, one of the archer's darted forward and righted the healer.

Gratefully leaning into the strong support of the warrior, he gasped, "I am...well. The connection is severed. We must hurry though! They are by no means out of danger yet. Clean and rebind their wounds. Once done, we must rush the king and prince back to the castle." The healer dragged a hand over his haggard face. "I fear that Legolas transferred to much energy to his father, gravely depleting his inner source to the point that he will not recover." _Alas! Why did he attempt such a feat with too little experience? It has cost him greatly._

The elves produced the necessary medical supplies in a flash. Wordlessly, they set to doctoring their lieges' injuries. A mixture of herbs were applied at Renias' direction, and covered with wads of bandages. Two archers shrugged off their dark green cloaks. Two others grabbed the proffered cloths, proceeding to wrap them around the unconscious elves for warmth. "You can save them, can you not, Renias?" murmured the captain into the healer's ear.

Renias' face pinched with pain and uncertainty. "After flushing out the poison, and with time, I believe King Thranduil will recover, thanks to his son's efforts. Legolas…" His eyes dropped. "It will take a miracle from the Valar to save him. I do not know if even Elrond's skill could heal the prince, certainly not mine. Only time will tell."

Clapping his friend's shoulder, Calunir nodded grimly, "We can only do what is in our power, and pray. Come, we must transport them home."

* * *

His senses sharpened as consciousness drifted back to him, bringing discomfort. Everything throbbed with stiff pain. Cocooned by blankets, he felt almost too warm. The air smelled of athleas. All was quiet with exception of the faint footsteps and bustling around by an elf. He strained to open his heavy eyelids. After several attempts, he succeeded. He wished he had not. The bright sunlight burned his eyes, causing him to groan. _What has happened to me? _"Your highness, you are awake!" exclaimed the healer a bit too shrilly.

"Ai! Renias! Keep it down, unless it is your desire to pierce my eardrums!" thundered the patient, massaging his temple. "Tell me, where am I?"

Crossing the room to the bed, the healer responded, "Oh, forgive me, my liege. You are in your second home, the healing ward. How do you feel?"

"I feel as if I have been trampled by an oliphaunt. As to the healing ward...it is my son's second home, not mine!" growled Thranduil. _Speaking of my son...strange that Legolas is not here. Perhaps he is still mad at me._ Drinking the water given to him by Renias greedily, he asked, "What happened to me?"

The healer began methodically checking the king's wounds. "Do you not remember? You were severely injured in an orc attack. I half expected you not to last the night with the amount of poison in your system."

The memories came flooding back to him. The fight with Legolas, the trip to the glade, and the orcs. The king's stomach and chest injuries flared with pain as he remembered being overwhelmed and stabbed. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was one of Mirkwood's archers landing before him. "Now I remember the battle. I was saved by one of the archers. Tell me, Renias, who is he? I owe the elf my life."

The healer paled deathly white. His hands shook violently. "Your...your...majesty," stammered Renias, "do you not know who it was that saved you?"

Thranduil's face reddened with impatience. "Of course, I know not! I would not be asking you the question if I knew!"

"Saes, King Thranduil, do not excite yourself! The archer was...was…" the healer spluttered.

"Tell me now or I will have you locked in the dungeons." declared Thranduil icily.

Flinching, Renias lowered his head. He blurted,"It was...your son, Legolas."

The news kicked the king in the gut, hard. His heart plunged. "No!" he whispered. Clutching the sheets in a vice-like grip, he moaned, "There were more than twenty-five orc, Renias! Did he fight them on his own?" The look on the healer's face confirmed his fears. "Is he alive? Is he?!"

"Your majesty, I do not think this is the time." Renias stalled desperately, while he attempted to force his liege to lay down.

Grabbing the tunic of his friend, Thranduil whispered, "Tell me. I must know the fate of my son. I must."

* * *

**Author's Note: I would not want to be Renias at this moment. Reviews make me happy :) So, I had planned to update last week and was on track to do so until I injured my eye. I ended up having to seek medical attention. The bright computer screen hurt my eye for a couple of days afterward, so I could not finish the chapter in time to update it. Thanks as always for your patience. For the remainder of the story, I will be updating every other week to be fair to you all, so that you're not disappointed every Sunday that I am unable to update. Happy Labor Day!**

**Translation: **

**Saes-Please**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: It has been forever since I updated, and probably even longer for you guys due to the way I left the last chapter. So, to atone for this awful delay I promise there will be no more cliffhangers or long waits for this story :) Thanks for everything! BTW- there is a little surprise in the Author's Note on the bottom. Enjoy!**

* * *

The stars sparkled merrily as a light breeze floated through the trees. Silver rays from the moon rained upon an elf staring solemnly into the midnight sky. "Legolas would love this night," sighed the king heavily. The stars were usually a source of comfort for Thranduil, but he found none from them tonight. He covered his pinched face with his hands, careful to avoid the bandage wrapped around his head. The stone balcony kept the elf from sinking to his knees. It seemed that his strength was more interwoven with his son's state than he realized._ The only reason I am alive and strong is because Legolas' life energy is flowing within me. I should be the one dying...not him! Not my son!_ Tears pricked his weary eyes. _Why did he do it? I am not worth his life_.

The proud shoulders of Mirkwood's ruler slumped with guilt and sorrow. Events from the battle replayed in his mind for the millionth time. Surely there was something he could have done. _I should have fought harder, forced myself to stay awake and aid Legolas. Ai! Anything to save the boy from his current state_. Gripping the railing until his knuckles turned white, Thranduil stopped himself. No one benefited from his tirade of guilt-ridden thoughts. _Now I know who Legolas gets it from._ He needed to focus on Legolas, instead of dwelling on what was already done.

After a last glance at the stars, the king silently re-entered the healing ward. Aware of his son's love of nature, he had ordered the servants to move his bed to the corner of the room that was closest to the balcony. During the day, he and Renias kept the doors to the veranda open. They hoped the prince would respond to the birds' songs and the trees' whistling. Sadly, Legolas continued to remain unconscious as he had for the last five days.

The healer had patched the prince up to the best of his ability. It took several hours of surgery for Renias to repair the extensive damage done to the young elf's shoulder. Even with the surgery, it was uncertain if Legolas would ever regain full use of it.

"Oh, ion nin, please wake up," pleaded the desperate father. Sinking into the wooden chair by the bed, he clasped the archer's pale hand. If only he could pour energy back into the unresponsive form, but he could not. Renias forbade it because Thranduil was not strong enough. Attempting a transfer would assuredly kill both the weakened king and the prince. Inwardly, the elf cursed his helplessness.

The creaking of a door interrupted his musings. Knowing who it was, the king softly questioned, "Tell me, Renias, why he does not awaken? It has been too long! There has to be something we can do."

Crossing the room, the healer placed a comforting hand on his liege's shoulder. "Your majesty, I wish I knew." Shaking his head resignedly, he continued, "I have done all I know to help him. Your son was quite exhausted. The amount of energy he transferred almost killed him. I thought with time and rest he might recover, now I am unsure."

"You mean he is...dying?" Thranduil hissed, his heart breaking. "No! You said Legolas was going to be fine."

The silver-haired elf pressed the distraught king back into the chair, fearful he would injure himself. "My lord, please. It seems that something is keeping him from healing. He acts as if he is fading, yet the prince still clings to life. I have sent word to Lord Elrond, but I believe there is nothing more we can do. It is up to Legolas to find the will to come back to us. I am sorry, mellon nin." The regal form trembled beneath Renias' hands at his words. The healer hated his job during times like this. It was hard enough being powerless to help his patient, but worse he had to deliver the devastating news to the family. Renias ached to console his friend and king, yet he knew there was nothing he could say or do that would take away the sting of losing a child.

"Please, leave me. I need to be alone with my son." commanded Thranduil, tucking the blankets tighter around the prince. The ruler's pain glistened eyes never left Legolas' face as the healer silently obeyed.

Once the door closed, the grieving father lost it. He gathered the younger elf in his arms and sobbed. Memories of Legolas from the past two millennia flashed through his head. He smiled and shed a tear over each treasured memory. Chasing butterflies with Legolas, snuggling with Aurilian and his frightened son during stormy nights, giving him his first bow, and watching his timid elfling bloom into an adult and warrior. Time flew so fast. While Thranduil had witnessed many moments, he had also missed countless ones. Now, he could never get them back, or make new memories. Soon, he would be without both his beloved wife and son.

"I am the cause of all of this," the king moaned. "I neglected you, ion nin. If I had paid more attention, I would have seen your suffering. I was insensitive to your needs, and condemned you for being you." Caressing the youthful face that reminded him so much of his queen, Thranduil attempted to swallow the lump lodged in his throat. "Then...then you go and save my life, and are paying for it with your own. I am sorry, Legolas. You deserve better than me."

His energy and emotions spent, the older elf eased the prince back onto the bed. Tenderly, he wrapped the covers around his son, and fluffed the pillows. _I would pay any price just to gaze into your laughing eyes once more, my little Greenleaf._ Thranduil planted a gentle kiss on Legolas' brow. When was the last time he had tucked his elfling in? A stab of pain shot through his shattered heart at the knowledge that this was the last opportunity he would ever have to do this.

The king collapsed back into the chair's feathered cushion, drained. Still, he sat rigid with determination. _I will stay with him until the end. Legolas held vigil over me in my darkest hours, I shall do the same for him._ Thranduil soothed,"Be at peace, my Greenleaf, for I am here...Ada's here."

* * *

The sun's early rays rose to find the still forms of father and son. One's face was streaked with tear tracks, while the other one was as white as death. Gold and pink hues bathed the white sheets covering the body of the younger elf. The life of the fire warming the ward had died long ago. All was silent, except for the cawing of a lone crow.

A shaking hand slowly stroked the unresponsive elf's blond head, but the elf did not move. So, he continued running his hand back and forth through the unbraided strands of hair. Fear kept him from checking for a pulse. The first born did not want his worst fears confirmed. No, better to sit here in ignorant bliss than face reality.

Anxiety and curiosity ate away at his resolve as the minutes passed. _I have faced many trials without fear throughout the millennia, yet here I am too scared to check on him._ Summoning his courage and steeling his heart, he nudged the still form. "Wake up...please wake up." His heart sank. "Eru, no, please!" Tears pooled in the elf's eyes from the lack of response as he sobbed, "Ada!"

Hearing his child's cries, Thranduil jerked awake. Arms instinctively flew to calm his son, "Legolas! Shhh...there, there. I am here, ion nin. Ada's here." The king's blue eyes widened with comprehension. "You are awake! Legolas, you're alive! Praise the Valar, it is a miracle!"

The prince resisted the urge to groan as his father's embrace tightened painfully around his broken ribs. They both needed the intimate contact. With his good arm, he returned the hug. "Yes, Ada, I am well. I could not leave you," croaked Legolas weakly. The strong arms squeezed tighter at these words. A tiny moan escaped unbidden from the archer's lips.

Thranduil released Legolas immediately. "Forgive me, ion. I forgot about your injuries." Reaching over to the ornate side-table, he clasped a goblet of water and held it to his son's lips. "Here, drink. You are very dehydrated after all your blood loss."

Drinking greedily, the prince panted, "Hannon le, Adar."

"That is enough for the moment. You do not want to upset your stomach," the king gently admonished. Gripping the younger's left hand, he looked into the other pair of eyes. "Hannon le, Legolas. I owe you my life," he stated, his voice thick with emotion.

"Ada, there is nothing to thank me for. I did what you would have done." A sharp spasm racked his shoulder. Gasping, the prince clutched it, only to find a wad of gauze covering the wound. "My shoulder. Ada, will it be all right?" he inquired apprehensively. The way Thranduil's face fell affirmed his trepidation. Legolas turned his pale face towards the balcony decorated with streaming sunlight. The pain that his actions cost him surged to the forefront of his mind.

Though the archer attempted to conceal his emotions, the king detected his distress. "Oh, ion nin, I am so sorry. This is all my fault. If only I had not gone to the memorial." Soft, calloused fingers touched his lips, silencing him.

"Stop. Do not take upon yourself blame that is not yours to bear, Ada. The fault lies with the orcs, and no one else." Slipping his left hand into his father's, Legolas squeezed it in assurance. "I followed you to the site because I love you. Despite the face of strength you put on for the people, I still see your hurt. We are a family, Ada, and are meant to support each other through the joys and trials of life. This is why I followed you, and defended you from the orcs. I regret nothing because you are worth fighting for, Ada."

Carefully avoiding the wounds and bandages that decorated Legolas' bare chest, Thranduil enveloped his son. "As are you, ion nin, as are you." Tears of pride and joy spilled from his eyes. "Never forget that I love you, Legolas. Though I may lose myself, I will not lose my love for you." he stated chokingly into the prince's golden tresses.

"I will." promised the younger elf.

The sound of a throat clearing alerted the pair to another elf's presence. Beside the wooden entrance on the opposite side of the room stood a beaming silver-haired elf. "Welcome back, my prince. I trust you had a good nap," teased the healer as he ambled over. His countenance solemned, "You gave all of us quite the scare. I expected you to never wake again."

Sinking back into the feathered pillows, exhausted, Legolas retorted playfully, "I was merely playing with you, Renias. You know I delight in shortening your immortal life with my death defying antics."

Thranduil could not resist the urge to laugh as the healer's face turned scarlet at his son's words. Renias sputtered, "Just playing?! Humph! I see your time knocking on the doors of Mandos' Halls has not dampened your sense of humor. For that, I shall not disclose the contents of the letter I just received from Lord Elrond." Spinning around, Renias began concocting a herbal tea at his work table. He pointedly ignored the archer's halfhearted attempts at apologizing.

"You dare antagonize my son? Renias, you will inform your lieges of Lord Elrond's message. Otherwise, I will personally throw you in the dungeons! Am I clear?" rumbled the king, his eyes twinkling with mirth. All three elves were grateful for the light mood after the last several days.

The healer gulped. He nodded his head in mock defeat, and pulled a letter from the folds of his dark blue robe."Very well. It regards your shoulder, Prince Legolas. In my letter I explained Legolas' condition, and asked Lord Elrond if there was anything he could do, or suggest. While I doubted there was anything to be done for the shoulder, he believes there is a possibility for the prince to regain full use of it again."

The warmth of hope flooded Legolas' whole being, and color returned to the elf's cheeks. His heart quickened, barely daring to hope. Propping himself up with his father's assistance, he inquired eagerly, "How? What must I do to?"

"I have already conducted surgery on your shoulder, and we must see how well it responds. However, Lord Elrond thinks that with aggressive therapy and time you will recover." Renias shifted his gaze to Thranduil. "He wants Legolas to come to Imladris in order for him to personally treat your son."

Inhaling deeply, Thranduil leaned back into the chair. _I do not wish to be parted from Legolas so soon after almost losing him. Yet, how can I say no? I am going to miss him dearly._ With a smile, the king consented, "You may go, ion nin, on two conditions. First, you will take an escort. Second, you promise me that you will stay out of trouble. Do not even think of arguing with me, Legolas!"

Renias suppressed a snort. "The king is right. Even if he had omitted the stipulation of a guard, I would have required it. Just last night you were more dead than alive. There is no way you are making the trip to Imladris by yourself with your injuries."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence. Ada, when have I ever gotten into more trouble than I could handle? It is not like I attract it." smirked the prince.

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Thranduil replied, "Ai Valar! I am not even going to answer that. Have you learned nothing from this experience, Legolas?"

Laughter echoed off the healing ward's walls and into the forest. All was well in Mirkwood once again. Both of the realm's rulers were alive and safe. With time, and Elrond's care, Legolas' shoulder would regain full mobility. Most importantly, father and son had forged a stronger bond that was worth fighting for.

* * *

**Author's Note: It is finished! What do you think? Love it? Hate it? (please don't let me know if you hate it because that would make me sad) I hope the story was worth reading. I know it was worth writing. A special thanks to everyone who took the time to review. It always brightened my day! I also greatly appreciated all the follows and favorites! In honor of all of you, I have decided to reveal the name and preview to my next story!**

**Depths of a Promise (featuring ****Legolas and Aragorn)**

**In a dangerous situation Legolas makes a promise to Aragorn. At the time, neither realize the life changing ramifications of these words. As years pass and the two face a myriad of different situations, each will come to realize just how deep the depths of the promise and friendship go. **

***there will be no slash whatsoever in this story***


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